


A Study in Touch

by Bookmonster



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Frottage, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:43:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/345257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookmonster/pseuds/Bookmonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's back gives out after working on a case and John tries to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Study in Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't even ship Johnlock but wrote this as a pressie to Bluebellmeadows on LJ - who also got to Beta her own present (who says I'm not a good friend??).

The case had taken its toll, Sherlock had spent the last three nights alternating between curled up tightly in his chair thinking and crouched in a damp back alley waiting for the suspect to appear. In the end Lestrade had only been five minutes behind Sherlock and John, though by luck more than anything else. An anonymous tip from a disgruntled ex girlfriend of the suspect and John knew that it annoyed Sherlock that a simple phone tip off could solve the case just as easily as his painstaking deductions. Well, not easily, John could see the strain in every halting movement of Sherlock’s long limbs and the dark circles under his eyes that told of how long Sherlock had gone without sleep.

John watched as Sherlock dropped his coat on the floor, threw himself down onto the sofa and turned his back on the room. Lestrade raised an eyebrow at John who shrugged.

“I’ll put the kettle on then, Greg you staying for a cuppa?”

“Thanks but no. Got to get back to the office and get the report done.”

He grinned as he waved and left, likely knowing that he would be getting a better deal stuck behind a desk finishing paperwork than John would dealing with Sherlock. John lingered in the kitchen longer than was strictly necessary to make the tea, only moving when he realised the tea would go cold if they didn’t drink it soon. 

“So, another case solved? One for the blog do you think?”

A muffled grunt came from where Sherlock was still curled up against the leather of the sofa, he peered quickly over his shoulder at the mug John was holding out for him.

“Not enough milk.”

“Yes, well this is the last of it as you didn’t get any milk when I asked you to and I am not going down the shops at this hour.”

Sherlock sighed and reached for the tea, as his hand reached the mug it spasmed and knocked it to the carpet as Sherlock froze and let out a cry of pain. John almost dropped his own cup of tea as he dropped to his knees by Sherlock’s side in a matter of moments.

“What, what is it?”

“Back...my back.”

White faced, Sherlock spat the words out through gritted teeth. John moved quickly with practised hands under Sherlock’s shirt, it would be just like him to get shot or stabbed and not tell anyone about it. Realising when he found nothing that he’d been holding his breath John sucked a lungful of air in shakily.  
“Nothing, probably just spasms.”

Sherlock nodded once, eyes closed and tight lipped.

“You need to breath Sherlock,” John rubbed his hand along the skin on Sherlock’s back that he’d been checking for injuries only moments before, “ tensing up is going to make it worse.”

John felt Sherlock tense again as another spasm ran through his muscles, sighing, he should tell Sherlock to look after himself more but would get a haughty look or terse reply, something about how ‘the body was just transport’. So instead of trying to argue he pressed his fingertips into the muscle of Sherlock’s back, the reaction was immediate and surprising as Sherlock let out a quiet groan and relaxed slightly into the sofa.

“This is why you shouldn’t sit all night,” John emphasised his words by pressing deeper into the muscle, “in that stupid chair, or in damp alleyways or anywhere else except a bed.”

Sherlock’s answer was a release of breath, the rush of air followed by him sinking further into the sofa, muscles no longer trying to hold himself together, instead they succumbed to John’s capable hands. John shifted Sherlock gently to pull the rest of his shirt from his trousers and pushed the material up until it bunched around Sherlock’s shoulder blades. John perched on the edge of the sofa and pressed his thumbs down into the groove of Sherlock’s spine, his warm hands taking in the slight chill of Sherlock’s skin as he wondered idly how long it had been since Sherlock had last eaten. Probably yesterday when he’d forced some toast down the man’s neck threatening it was that or he would personally see to it that the kitchen was cleared of any experiments Sherlock had in there. 

“Trapezius. Latissimus dorsi.”

“What? Sherlock are you naming the...never mind can’t you turn that massive brain of yours off for one minute?”

Sherlock fell silent as John alternately smoothed and pressed into unyielding muscle, the adrenaline that had kept him going all evening slowly fizzling out in his blood and a creeping awareness of what he was doing filtering into his tired brain. It wasn’t that he was touching Sherlock, the man was on a mission to injure himself and John had been forced to use his medical training on Sherlock more than once and seen him naked more times than he could count. It was more the, he searched for the right word, ‘intimacy’, he’d never touched Sherlock in more than a professional capacity, never hugged him, never patted him on the shoulder but now he was running his hands up and down the man’s back in a manner that was feeling less and less professional every second. 

John pressed deeper into the muscle and Sherlock let out a small cry, choked back almost as soon as it had started. John felt the tight knot beneath his hands and pressed more insistently until Sherlock let out an almost inaudible groan that John felt vibrate through the sofa. Something loosened in Sherlock’s back and he melted into the sofa with a soft sigh. Sherlock was silent and soon all John could hear was the occasional car passing in the road outside as well as Sherlock’s deep and steady breathing, his hands pressed more gently now not sure if Sherlock had dropped off to sleep. John tried to look at Sherlock’s face but his head was pressed against his forearms so all that John could see was the curls of dark hair on the back of his head.

“Sherlock?”

When Sherlock didn’t answer John pulled his hands away slowly, fingers trailing down the skin on his back perhaps a little more than necessary to settle on Sherlock’s lower back. 

“John.”

Sherlock’s voice was thick but not as rough as it would have been had he actually fallen asleep.

“You’re awake then.”

The dark head shifted slightly so that John could see a curve of eyebrow and sharp cheekbone, pale against the dark leather, paler than it should be, the last few days taking their toll. John knew that he should pull his fingers away fully, leaving them there was a confession that would be impossible for him to make when Sherlock was fully alert, glacial eyes watchful and forbidding.

“I should go, long couple of days we’ve had.”

“Why do you suppress your own needs to make others around you more comfortable?”

“I’m, hang on. What? I don’t understand.”

“Obviously, but I am unwilling to carry on in your deception any longer.”

“My deception? I know that I don’t always follow you but I am completely lost.”

“You obviously feel some sort of attraction towards me, I have been waiting for you to be ready to acknowledge it.”

Sometimes it really annoyed John that what he thought of as private thoughts and feelings were clear and transparent to Sherlock, all read off a slight tilt of an eyebrow or which shirt he’d chosen to wear that day. 

“If that is so clear to you why bring it up now?”

“Your emotional defences are lower at the moment due to several factors, adrenaline over the case ending, tiredness, your relief that I wasn’t injured. The desire has been there but suppressed by other factors.”

“Thank you so much for telling me all this but what exactly is the point other than to utterly embarrass me?”

“Embarrass you? Why would it embarrass you?”

“Never mind. Why bring it up now?

“Because you confuse me. The distraction of having an interest in someone was never worth it before.”

John’s thoughts whirred as he parsed Sherlock’s sentence. Did that mean the distraction was worth it now? He had wondered if Sherlock had even been with anyone before, he’d thought about it idly of course but seeing him here waiting John wondered if anyone else had ever trailed a hand down Sherlock’s skin, had ever made his breath hitch, ever been the one to make his fingers curl.

“Well you enjoyed the massage so lets stick with that for now.”

His voice was calmer and more matter of fact than he felt and to be honest it was as much to give himself a moment to think as it was to give Sherlock time to acclimatise to his touch again.

“I didn’t think you liked people touching you?”

“I have no objections but people don’t usually initiate...contact with me. I think they find me intimidating.”

A small laugh nearly escaped John’s mouth.

“I can’t see why.”

“You’re touching me though.”

As if John could forget. His hands were softer now, his touch more a caress than kneading, the tips of his fingers tingling as he skimmed lightly over Sherlock’s pale skin.

“Yes I am.”

“You are evidently enjoying it.”

John wondered if he should stop, Sherlock’s tone hadn’t conveyed anything more than a vague sort of curiosity. Should he stop now? If he did would they be able to forget it? Go back to what they were before, John admiring from afar. If he stopped touching Sherlock right now they could write this off, exhaustion, lack of food, left over adrenaline from the case, anything other than the fact that John wanted to watch the pale man buck and writhe and come undone beneath him. 

“I believe my back is much the better for your attentions.”

“Did you want me to stop?”

“You may continue if you’re not too uncomfortable?”

“You want me to?”

“If you don’t object, I ignore the needs of my body at my own peril as you often remind me.”

Sherlock’s hand was insistent on John’s thigh, tugging gently until John realised what he wanted. John shifted, the leather creaking under his weight as he settled his legs either side of Sherlock’s back, hovering above him as he pressed his thumbs into the grooves either side of Sherlock’s spine and pressed up until he hit Sherlock’s shoulder blades, the man beneath him arched slightly into the touch. John repeated the actions, pressing further up Sherlock’s back until he was impeded by Sherlock’s shirt. The urge to press his body against Sherlock’s back grew until his breath was shaky, his legs trembling from maintaining his position above Sherlock. John wasn’t sure afterwards if Sherlock had felt his discomfort or if it was just an impulse he failed to suppress but he reached for John, his hand curling around the back of John’s knee until John was pulled down enough to settle on Sherlock’s arse. Where Sherlock couldn’t fail to notice John’s rather insistent interest in the proceedings. 

“Sorry, erm just ignore that.”

“Perfectly normal bodily reaction John.” An assessing silence fell before Sherlock spoke again. “What if I said I didn’t want to ignore it?”

Blood rushed so fast from John’s head he felt giddy.

“I...what?”

“You always work at your best when you are satisfied sexually and I would not be...averse to helping you achieve some completion on that front.”

“That is some awful pillow talk Sherlock, really, really bad. I can’t just sit here and...what toss one off over you.”

Saying the words felt so wrong but a treacherous throb went straight to John’s cock. Wow it really had been a while if that was getting him off.

“I would be interested in a reciprocal arrangement John.”

“Seriously? Right so we’re doing this, right here, now.”

“You’re over-thinking this John.”

“This coming from you? Fine, if, if you’re sure Sherlock.”

John ground down, the movement earning a groan from Sherlock, his hand clenching tighter around John’s leg. Taking that as permission to carry on John leaned down until his chest was pressed to Sherlock’s bare skin, his face pressed into the soft hair on the back of Sherlock’s neck as his hips thrust slowly, teasingly, wanting Sherlock to initiate something, wanting to know that this was something Sherlock wanted too. The shallow thrusts against the crease of Sherlock’s arse were maddening, but he kept his pace steady and slow. An impatient huff from Sherlock and his hand moved from the back of John’s knee along his thigh and grabbed John’s arse cheek pulling him closer as he pushed back against John at the same time. 

“Sherlock.”

“John I realise you are under the impression that your interest is unwelcome, may I disabuse you of this notion so that I can get rid of this erection.”

“Erection? You have an erection? Oh my god.”

John breathed the last words as a chuckle into Sherlock’s neck, interrupted as Sherlock arched bringing John’s groin into contact with his arse again. John felt Sherlock’s left arm wiggling underneath the tall man’s body, John presumed it was so that he could touch his own erection, Sherlock had an erection. The thought hit him low in his stomach.

“Don’t, please let me.”

Sherlock stilled and John wondered for a moment if maybe he’d gone too far, Sherlock had said he didn’t mind being touched but was this too much? But in a moment Sherlock was pulling his hand out and lifting his hips slightly so that John could press his own hand in the space between his body and the sofa. John found that Sherlock had already undone his trousers and pushed his boxers down far enough that it had released his cock. He curled his fingers around the warm flesh, and tried to touch Sherlock as he touched himself at night when he wondered what this moment might be like. With his body pressing Sherlock down into the sofa though there wasn’t enough room to move his hand, it didn’t matter as suddenly Sherlock was pushing into John’s grip and then pushing back. Rocking between John’s hand and his erection until John was pressing back unable to help himself. 

The skin below him flushed warm, the pink contrasting with Sherlock’s usually pale skin and John ran his fingers over it wonderingly. John curled his hand under Sherlock’s arm to hold his shoulder tight, gaining leverage for his thrusts against Sherlock. When he let his head drop to nose into the juncture of Sherlock’s neck, the resulting moan from Sherlock was enough to have him grind his hips down harder burying his erection in the crease of Sherlock’s arse. When he had imagine Sherlock like this he had never expected him to be so vocal, but for once he didn’t mind being proved wrong by Sherlock.

“John...please.”

John could never refuse the man beneath him anything, the rarity of him saying please made something twist low in John’s stomach. He understood now why Irene had wanted to have Sherlock beg, feeling power over someone like Sherlock was a definite aphrodisiac. He snapped his hips quicker, pressing harder against Sherlock as he tightened his trapped hand around Sherlock’s cock. 

“Oh Jesus. Wait, I want to see your face. Turn over.”

Sherlock obliged quickly. Spots of colour high on his usually pale face, his light eyes, slightly glassy and over bright fixed on John. Sherlock’s shirt had bunched up and John could see where the material of the sofa had left Sherlock’s skin lined, he let a finger trail the path of one of the creases until he reached where the skin met material. John’s steady fingers loosened each button, the dark red fabric falling open to reveal more of Sherlock’s chest, then stomach and finally the entire length of Sherlock lean form was uncovered. Only then did John allow his eyes to fall to where Sherlock’s trousers hung open, his erection as long and graceful as the rest of him before looking back up to Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock stayed absolutely still, gathering information on the situation perhaps, John thought. The only indication something was out of the ordinary was the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the colour in his cheeks. Sherlock lifted a hand, palm open, waiting until John tangled their fingers together to tug his weight down on top of himself.

“I’m too heavy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous John.”

John chuckled lightly and Sherlock huffed in return, their breath soft on each other’s skin as John measured the heartbeats hammering in their chests, now pressed together. 

“We don’t have to do this you know Sherlock.”

“I know.”

To John’s surprise Sherlock curled his long fingers around John’s neck and pulled him down until their lips met lightly, a shock ran through John as Sherlock’s tongue flickered lightly against his before pressing deeper. Sherlock’s fingers pressed harder into John’s skin, his nails scratching softly at the sensitive skin on his nape until John was pressing back just as insistently. Sherlock’s other hand was pulling John’s shirt out of his trousers so that he was able to run a hand up John’s flank. Soon both of Sherlock’s hands were moving constantly, pausing when something made John’s breath hitch or speed up as he noted each response until John was helplessly circling his hips into Sherlock, needing, wanting more as small wordless noises fell from his lips into Sherlock’s. All John could do when Sherlock pressed a hand to the front of his trousers was moan, Sherlock’s fingers made quick work of the button and zip before pushing the material of John’s trousers down until they rested in the crease where his thigh met the curve of his arse.

“John I want to touch you now.”

“Oh god, yes Sherlock.”

They both watched as Sherlock’s fingers curled around John’s erection, John let out a hiss as Sherlock pulled experimentally. John could feel his blood racing again, each slow stroke pulling him closer with a tug in his abdomen. He watched as he moved through Sherlock’s hand, his muscles tensing to stop himself from pressing faster. When John rested his weight on his left hand and reached down between their bodies with his right, Sherlock followed the movement with hungry eyes. They fluttered closed for a moment as John circled Sherlock’s own erection, his thumb pressing lightly along the underside, when Sherlock’s eyes opened again they focused on John’s face.

John pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s as their hands moved together, catching his lips with small movements, not proper kisses really but open mouthed and messy, too desperate for finesse as their bodies found a rhythm that John could already feel building up under his skin. Leaning in John mouthed along Sherlock’s jaw, the roughness of stubble prickling at his lips as Sherlock turned to give him better access to the tendons on his neck. Sherlock thrust up harder, his legs falling open a little further and they both gasped as the heads of their cocks touched. 

“John, that felt good.”

“I know, hang on.”

John quickly lifted his hand from between their bodies and licked his palm, when he reached down again John wrapped his hand around them both bringing the sensitive skin together sending a jolt through their bodies. Sherlock covered John’s hand with his own, following John’s motion and speed until his body bowed and arched up. His head pressed back into the arm of the sofa as his body jolted allowing John to graze his teeth along the exposed skin. The groans from Sherlock ripped John’s own reaction out of his body, those noises not something John had ever thought he would hear from Sherlock’s lips. John slumped onto Sherlock’s chest, his shaking arm no longer able to hold his weight. Instead John pressed his fingers into the damp curls of Sherlock’s hair as the tall man rested his arm across John’s back, fingers running into the dips of skin along his ribs. 

“You tired?”

“Mmm, I can stay awake for about four more hours before my cognitive abilities begin to decline.”

“We should go to bed. I don’t think sleeping on the sofa is going to do your back any good.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement but neither of them actually moved. The room was lighter now as the sky went from black to grey and although John was feeling warm and boneless he really didn’t want to fall asleep curled on the sofa half naked with Sherlock. He wondered if Mrs Hudson would have a heart attack or smile indulgently as she made them a cuppa if she found them like this. He’d rather not find out, groaning as his muscles protested the movement he clambered off the sofa and stumbled slightly.

“Too comfortable.”

“Well you won’t be after a few hours on that thing and I am not sorting a crick in your neck out later if you get one.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrow as if to say ‘that is exactly what you will do’.

“Fine but I won’t keep doing it.”

Sherlock added a smirk to the eyebrow and John huffed.

“Just bloody come up to bed will you. If not I’m going out for milk.”

Sherlock finally relented and unfolded his long form.

“We can go to bed now and you can get milk later to make some tea.”

John pursed his lips but as he turned away he grinned knowing that he could let Sherlock win that battle as he’d already won the war.


End file.
